


Loud Like Love

by quiznakeries



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, F/M, M/M, Slow Burn, eventual boning, guitar porn masked as fan fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21772129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiznakeries/pseuds/quiznakeries
Summary: “What are you doing?” She asks.Keith ignores her, sits his ass down on a chair with Alluras guitar in hand, cranks up the volume, and plays.--In which Keith acts first and thinks later, Hiroshima and Nagasaki were never bombed, alteans still don’t get brainfreeze, Matt fucking knows, a dog chooses its own name, and Coran lives out his dream as a band manager.
Relationships: Allura/Lance (Voltron), Hunk/Pidge | Katie Holt, Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This AU has been poking at my brain since 2016 so I figured it was time.

**Prologue**

**_Shiro’s playlist, “Lonely Planet Boy” - New York Dolls, 1973_ **

  
  


Regulations forbid any disturbance or initiated contact with primitive species and their planets. Those are basic rules, followed by most and corrected when they aren’t. When an Altean ship landed in a valley far from any populated areas, nothing but sand and stone in every direction, it was not exactly planned. They had run into some trouble with their main turbine, and a spot like that should have been completely fine for an emergency landing. That’s what the data told them. Their data said nothing about the war that shook the entire planet, from which some were starting to rebuild, some still caught in conflict. Eyes and guns still pointed to the sky.

It didn’t happen on purpose, the Alteans first contact with planet earth and the humans. Their timing was bad, arriving to a world that was broken, a wounded thing after nearly six deca-phoebs of ruthless warfare. The humans were divided amongst themselves, suspicious and hostile. The only upside to the Alteans unfortunate timing was that at such a vulnerable time in their history, the humans thought they had seen it all. The masses were exhausted, so worn down from the terrors of war the uproar against the aliens arrival never quite took off. The existence of other worlds and their resources, at this point in time, was not exactly welcomed at first, but things could have gone much worse. The Alteans and their allies offered their help to rebuild, as protocol and regulations were already broken beyond repair, and the people of earth eventually accepted. It was in the late summer of 1945, earth time, when the ship landed on North American soil and almost brought an end to the agreements of peace that had been signed only days before.

As a non-violent people, the Alteans insisted on trading their resources and technology for the promise of peace amongst the countries on earth. Doing so, despite arriving at the very end of the humans most devastating war, managed to cancel planned nuclear bombings from their host country to another, among other things.

Some would refer to the foreign species as silent invaders, with the way they demanded actions that directly would affect the entire world. Others would call them angels, saviors sent to bring peace and prosperity to everyone. The Alteans themselves would rather not go by any of the two, but preferred to be seen as a lucky accident that came to help a wounded world heal. 

-

As the years passed, and planet earth progressed far beyond their own capability thanks to the knowings of other species, a few of the visitors came to stay. Ambassadors were welcomed to come and go with their families, small military and humanitarian bases were built, and a handful of businesses also came to set root. Alfor of Altea belonged to the first category, as the son of an ambassador based in the United States of America. He, as well as the other ambassadors kids, spent most of their upbringing on earth. Yet, as a little boy, he didn’t go to a regular earth school or spend much time with the local children. His mother taught him and a few other children from home, and he grew up tying close bonds to his little group of classmates. It wasn’t until he turned thirteen, earth time, that he first started taking classes at a local school. Being based in different areas of the city and of different ages, he didn’t see his other friends when attending school. It was challenging, as the only non-human amongst 600 students, but Alfor took it in stride. He was just too excited to learn more about earth hands on to worry much about fitting in.

He studied three subjects at the school; Earth History, English and Music. The first two he was quite advanced in already, often more than his classmates. But when it came to music, Alfor was completely novice. Not that he had never heard earth music, or knew nothing about it, but his knowledge was limited at best. He knew some classical pieces that he looked up as their composers had come up in his other studies, and every once in a while they’d tune in on a musical program on the radio in the kitchen of his home. What he did not know was how the music came to, what instruments were used or how they worked. When he chose this class, that was what he signed up to learn.

As it would turn out, he’d leave his very first lesson with a lot more than that.

It was the third day of the new semester in September of 1972. Alfor arrived to the local high school at noon, about an hour before his first and only class of the day was set to start. He took the long way around the school, still fascinated by the structure of the building and all that it contained. It was lunch time, and the halls were crowded with kids. Alfor had a few inches on most kids his age, but that hardly stuck out in the sea of people in different stages of development. It was certainly nothing compared to his friend Zarkon, who at fourteen years old already towered over practically every human he met.

When Alfor arrived to his classroom, he found it wasn’t empty as he had expected. Perhaps such a creative subject was more popular than the likes of Earth Science, and the students liked to arrive early? He peered into the room through the open door. 

Inside he spotted three girls. One of them was crouched over a big instrument, large enough to require legs of its own. Right in front of her was a row of shiny white and black keys which she pressed to make different notes. He’d heard this instrument play before, but he didn’t know what it was called. He watched as she played the instrument with great skill, mesmerized by the tune that filled the space around them at the careful touch of her fingers.

He could have watched her for hours. If she hadn’t looked up and spotted him, that is. She had large, kind eyes, and they seemed to smile at him where he stood shadowed by the door.

“Hey there,” She said, catching the attention of her two friends. “Would you like to join us? It’s okay.”

Alfor felt a heat on his cheeks he wasn’t quite used to experiencing. He took a step into the room, greeting the three young girls with a polite bow. “I’m sorry I didn’t announce myself,” he said, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop on your practice.”

The three girls all giggled, and he knew it was because of his politeness. It wasn’t really expected from a teenage boy, he’d found out earlier that very week. Most other boys were rowdy and loud at school, and while Alfor could see the appeal in letting go of ones inhibitions like that, he himself would need somewhat of an adjustment period.

“That’s alright.” The girl at the large instrument said, smiling. “You’re Alfor, aren’t you? The Altean boy?”

Alfor nodded. “That’s me.”

“It’s really nice to meet you Alfor.” She said. “I’m Paula. These two twittering birds here are Marianne and Chelsea.”

The two other girls waved from their seats at the window, the magazine they had been browsing together suddenly abandoned. Alfor bowed once more in their direction. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Are you taking this class Alfor?” One of them asked.

“Yes, I am! I’m excited to learn more about your compositions and instruments.”

Paula’s smile grew even wider, freckled cheeks dimpling in a way Alfor had seen no ones face do before. She patted the spot next to her. “Come sit with me, I’ll teach you something on the piano.”

_ Piano _ .

-

“I really like your hair.” Paula said one day after class, resulting in Alfors’ pencil case flying right off the desk with his surprised jerk. The two of them had sat next to each other in music class every week for the past month, and despite his best efforts, the boy had developed a habit of making a fool of himself every time his classmate laughed or said something nice to him. 

He should have been ready for high school infatuation. 

He wasn’t.

Paula was nothing like anyone Alfor had ever met before. She was sweet and funny, and talked so passionately about music he couldn’t help but to be drawn in far deeper on the subject than he had anticipated. 

“I-  _ uh _ \- thank you, Paula.” he scrambled to gather his things with little grace. “Yours is nice too, I mean-”

“Thanks.” she said, saving him from his own rambling. That was another thing that was amazing about her. 

She waited for him to finish packing up, and they made their way out together. It was becoming routine, Alfor walking her to her next class before he headed home.

“So, have you looked up any more earth music yet?”

Alfor grimaced. He’d said he would, when they parted the previous week, but he’d just been too occupied with his other studies and helping his mother around the house as his father was off planet.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t-”

“That’s okay! Good even!” Paula smiled, an excited skip to her step. “Actually I wanted to ask you if you wanted to meet up after school today? If you’re gonna discover what’s out there other than  _ Mozart- _ ” she wiggled her eyebrows, the wide smile turning to a knowing smirk. “-you should get to do it right.”

-

Looking back on the memory in his later years, Alfor would admit to not being able to clasp his dropped jaw for the entirety of his first visit at a mall. Ten minutes in, his tongue was dry from gaping, and he probably looked quite the fool. 

But he didn’t care.

Humanity was so much more creative and diverse than he’d ever thought possible. Growing up at the embassy, he’d learned this world was still in a primitive state of development. That could mean anything, when faced with old civilizations such as the alteans and olkari, but whatever image Alfor had built from the information and media he had accessed - it was nowhere near the reality.

The mall was one huge building crawling with shops, which wasn’t a new concept, but every store, and every person coming and going, were all different. It was colorful and vibrant, an entire universe pressed into a single block of concrete. Hundreds of scents and sounds mixed together with the swirl of moving bodies and glowing signs. He’d never seen anything like it.

Paula wasn’t phased by his speechlessness, dragging him along by the hand. She pointed and told him what certain things were, asked if he’d seen them before, explained their purpose if he shook his head no.

“Have you ever had a milkshake before?” she asked eventually, coming to a stop in front of a food vendor with a big pastel sign saying “Carvel Ice Cream”. Alfor shook his head again, watching as the girl behind the counter pulled a lever on a machine, producing something that at a distance reminded him of the goo he’d had on his trips into deep space with his father.

He shuddered.

But judging from the menu on the back wall, it appeared this place only served sweets. This made him significantly less wary towards the mysterious earth snack. Because food goo? Not sweet.

Not sweet at all.

“Hello?” Paulas voice brought him back from flashbacks of how much worse the green goo was coming back up. “Are you okay?”

Alfor nodded, apologies already gathering on his tongue when- “I asked you which flavour you’d like to try?” Paula gestured to the menu. “There’s vanilla, and chocolate, and strawberry which is my favourite.”

-

“That’s…  _ wicked _ .”

Milkshakes turned out to be really, really tasty. He didn’t expect the beverage to be so cold, but it was a pleasant surprise. He’d gone with the chocolate option, a safe flavour he knew and liked, but it was nothing like the bite sized pieces he’d had before. It was smooth and creamy, and very sweet. It was so good, the whole thing was gone in less than a minute.

Which, apparently, wasn’t normal.

“I don’t understand.” he said to Paula. The girl had barely started on her own milkshake, and she was trying to explain to him why. “If this drink could freeze your brain, why would you drink it in the first place?”

-

“Here we are!” Paula spread her arms wide, facing yet another store. This one had fake wooden panels and stone covering its front, giving it an oddly rustic appearance. Above the opening sat a glossy sign. Camelot Music. Inside was a maze of shelves and bins, overflowing with records. Alfor didn’t know where to begin, where to focus his eyes. He opted just to follow his friend as she zoomed right in on the cash register.

“Hey Sam!” she called, sliding up to the register. There stood an older boy, with poofy hair and a heavily patterned button-up clinging snugly to his skin. 

The young man leaned on the counter to match her height. “‘Zup kid? This your new boyfriend?”

Alfor felt heat creeping up his collar in an instant, but to his surprise, he wasn’t the only one.

“That’s just bogus!” Paula spluttered, freckled cheeks bleeding bright pink. “You’re such a big goon!”

Sam straightened up, rolling his shoulders back in nonchalance. “Just as well, saves med the speech.” he turns to Alfor, looking him up and down. “You be nice to my baby sister, ya’ hear?”

For the thousandth time that afternoon, Alfor could only nod and let himself be dragged along deeper into the store.

The next fifteen minutes went by in a blur, Alfor following his classmate around the store and carrying the steadily growing pile of records Paula picked out. She was excited, clutching a final record to her chest and skipping towards the back. “Come on now, you slowpoke!”

Alfor strutted after her, through a door labeled “employees only” and into a small back room. There was a fridge, a coffee maker plugged in on the floor along with a stack of paper cups, a table with two chairs, an old couch, and a side table occupied by a record player. The room was dim and smelled like burnt coffee, but something about the simplicity of it all really… spoke to him somehow. It was comfortable. 

Paula went straight for the record player, cross-legged on the floor and reaching for the records in Alfors arms. She beamed at him, choosing one from the stack. “You ready for something totally awesome?”

-

Alfors first experience with modern music was a memory he’d cherish for the entirety of his life. Sitting there on a worn down couch with his hands cupped over the bulky headphones, he got a taste of just how vast music could be. They started with something light, “Beautiful Sunday” by Daniel Boone that had topped the lists that year. Then came “Bridge Over Troubled Water” by Aretha Franklin, “Let It Be” by The Beatles, and “Bye Bye Johnny” by Chuck Berry. He had Paula repeat the last one three times before he finally felt able to move on to the next. There was something about the onslaught of crunchy noise that Alfor couldn’t grasp how it was possible. 

There was so much going on, yet there was perfect harmony. 

Alteans had music too, of course, but it had never been a part of every day life the way it was on earth. The instruments were all soothing and balanced, and music was mostly played on holidays and special occasions. It was more of a cultural heritage, the songs dating back hundreds of years. And they were beautiful, dreamy. 

Nothing like this.

“Okay so, this next one is Sams favourite.” Paula explained as she slid the disk out of its case. “He’s the one who introduced me to this style and I have to say, it’s pretty rad.”

Alfor bounced his legs where he sat, trying to imagine what could be more _ rad _ than the songs he’d just heard. It was hard enough to fathom as it were. What else had the humans created?

There was a crackle in the headphones. A few seconds of what sounded like something had gone wrong, but then-

Alfors eyes grew wide, and everything else; just faded away.

-

For the years following, Alfor and Paula would grow very close. First as friends, and later as high school sweethearts. She and her older brother were his first guitar-teachers, and the ones to record his first demo in Sams basement studio. Paula helped him teach music to his embassy friends, and she was there in 1980 when the worlds first all alien rock band took the stage for the first time.

On their first studio album as a signed rockband, there was a track called “Paulas Piano”, and when the romance eventually faded, the two of them parted as good friends.

The first time Voltron sold out a big arena, Paula was in the back helping Blaytz with his unruly permanent and drinking beer with her recently crowned producer of a brother. At Alfors wedding, she stood as his best man, and after the birth of his daughter, she hid her tears by shoving him off balance when he named her the godmother.

Whatever the years of wear did to their bond, Alfor would always be grateful. Grateful and full of affection, for the girl with the dimples that showed him the world. 

Thankful, for Paula Holt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i will protect babie alfor with my life ok?
> 
> the song was "voodoo child" by jimi hendrix btw, if anyone's curious
> 
> next time, we meet the real time gang ✌


	2. I'm in the band

**Chapter 1**

  
**_Keith’s playlist, “I’m In The Band” - Hellacopters, 2004_ **

  
  


Allura would be an uphill battle. Keith knew this the moment he got close enough to the studio to hear her raging about integrity, about honesty and all that good stuff Keith threw overboard in order to get in that room. Her voice had barrelled down the corridor like a storm but he had kept walking and knocked that door anyway. 

He had known what he was getting into. 

Or so he tells himself now, as he pretends to mess around with the amp and like he’s not trying to overhear the conversation going on outside. Today is his last audition, and he knows he’s got a good shot at getting this gig. If only the lead singer of Lioness can be persuaded to look past the... issue.

The hushed voices in the next room grow a little louder, a little more frustrated by every click of the sound technician slash producer slash bass players sisters’ pen. She sits curled up on a chair a few feet away from Keith, and he can feel her eyes drilling into the side of his head. By the door stands a guy Keith’s not pinpointed what exactly he does except sit around as the band rehearses. He’s not even pretending not to eavesdrop, one ear pressed to the door since the second it slammed shut.

“I just don’t think-“ 

Whatever it is Allura doesn’t think is delivered a little softer, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out. She doesn’t want Keith in the band, that much is not a secret. He’d thought for a moment there though, the chemistry was really good. The sound of the four of them playing together today? It was tight. Real tight. Keith swallows a sigh and pretends his heart isn’t hammering too hard in his chest. He can still get this. They need someone to cover the lead guitar and they need it now. The few others that auditioned weren’t top shelf, drummer boy let slip earlier, and the tour kicks off in less than two weeks. It can still happen. Keith will make it happen.

He’s so strung on nervous energy, he almost topples over when the door finally opens. It reveals a mix of faces. The sort of apprehensive band members, the defeated manager - Keith swears the bright orange mustache is actually drooping - and the cold statuesque expression that’s been stuck on the singer's face like a mask all week. He stands, and twists the volume knob to zero.

“Keith,” Allura starts, no time to waste in her mission to get rid of him. “I have to admit, you’re a far more skilled musician than I first thought you would be.”

Keith adjusts the strap on his shoulder, cocks his hip. “But?”

Her gaze locks on Keith, steady like a fucking mountain. “But, despite your skill, there are aspects to your particular style that simply doesn’t… go.” She gestures to the guitar currently hanging off Keith’s shoulder, a half acoustic Sheraton-II. “And it’s important to me that-“

Keith almost laughs.

Instead, he swings the guitar off and sets it down. If he rolls his eyes as he makes his way over to where Allura’s own guitar stands, then sue him. Of all the excuses to dismiss him, this is the one she goes with?

“What are you doing?” She asks. 

Keith ignores her, sits his ass down on a chair with Alluras guitar in hand, cranks up the volume, and plays.

The sound is far from his soulful, crunchy Epiphone. The beauty in his hands now is laser cut glass, sharp and crisp and classy as hell. But she’s got some earthy glow to her, a nice and grounding undertone. The classic LP is light, comfortable with a thin neck and smaller body than his own first choice. On another day, he’d take her for a real run, see what he could create. But, he’s got things to accomplish, so the little tweaks that pull on his bones he foregoes, playing it by the book because  _ hell _ —

“I know how to play it your way,” he says. “I choose not to because it’s not as fun playing a mocking bird. You can find someone to copycat the original but,” he plucks the finishing notes to ‘Mama told ya’ and let’s the last one ring. “-there’ll always be a little piece of soul missing, that way.”

There’s silence, all eyes on Allura as she contemplates. Keith waits. He got her, right? She pitched and he hit that ball good. It’s going to be enough to get him there. 

Right?

“‘Llura,” the tension snaps, and the guy with no real job and no shame (Lance? Yeah, that’s his name) bumps Alluras shoulder. “I think maybe this guy has a point.” He presses a finger to the singers mouth before she can cut in. “No one can fill out the size 14 combat boots we got sitting here. Maybe we’ll be better off letting the replacements bring his own shoes, you feel me?”

“The way Keith played the Hellbent solo earlier blew my frickin’ mind,” the drummer, Hunk, pipes up. “Y’know, just saying.”

All eyes turn back to the singer, she crosses her arms. 

They stare at her, she stares at the floor. 

The cosmic limit to just how long a room with seven people and a bunch of musical instruments can stay quiet is approaching fast. And they all know Keith’s sound isn’t actually the problem here. 

Keith is starting to gather the words for his next argument when— “I can tell when my battle is lost.” 

The group watches as Allura reaches out her hand. Keith takes it. 

“Keith.” She says. “I guess you’re in.”

_ Home run _ .

  
  


\---

  
  


The rest of the afternoon is a big blur, starting with an uncomfortable number of welcoming hugs and pats on the back, his name scribbled on a whole bunch of dotted lines.

Now he’s being hauled down the stairs, sandwiched between Hunk and Lance and apparently headed across the street for a victory drink. His head is spinning with the sudden turn from nervous anxiety to… whatever this mess is. 

He turns to look at Allura, keeping a safe distance behind the rest of them. Coran is beside her, talking quietly. Her expression is sour, eyes glued to the screen of her holopad. 

Outside the sun hangs low, and he realizes what a long day it’s been. He longs for his couch, for a room that isn’t over crowded, his dog. Things he’ll have to live without starting two weeks from now, once they’re off on tour.

He’s going on tour. He’s taking the stage in ten different cities, ten sold out venues, as part of this band. This innovative, asskicking rock band he’s followed since the very beginning. He may not have taken the cleanest route to get here, and the frontman doesn’t want him, but fuck this is huge.

“Ahh, I was starting to worry you might not know how to smile.” Coran snickers, throwing an arm over Keith’s shoulders. “I’m glad to see that wasn’t the case.”

Keith scoffs, but he can’t help the continued tug on his mouth when Coran twirls his mustache and leads him along.

\---

“Hey Coran, have you seen Llura?”

The manager twitches, setting the tray carrying a first round of beer on the table. Keith tunes in at this, Hunk’s story fading into the background. 

“Oh she- Allura wasn’t feeling well.” Coran lies, avoiding all eye contact and scratching the back of his carrot hairdo. “She decided to head home for the night.”

The entire booth falls silent, the figurative happy bubble punctured and wheezing.

“Man she really doesn’t like you.” the bassist, Matt, looks at Keith and blindly reaches for a bottle. “But-” he grins. “We do! Tonight’s your night buddy, welcome to the band.”

The others cheer when Keith accepts the bottle and takes a quick swig, and just like that the celebratory mood is back full force.

The beer tastes foul.

“Why didn’t you say so?” Lance scrambles to get out of his seat. “I’ll grab you something else amigo, what’s your poison?”

“I don’t actually drink.” Keith shrugs, and Lance stops. He says it offhandedly, but he’s also used to the onslaught of questions and protests that always come with this admission.

“Huh.” Lance cocks his head to the side. “I totally had you pegged as a jack-dude. Anyway, soda then? Water?”

Keith blinks once, twice. 

“Uh, coke’s fine.”

Lance finger-guns and turns on his heel, heading towards the bar. Keith watches him go, impressed. 

\---

“Alright Keith,” Matt says. He’s four beers and a shot of bourbon in and starting to lose his sense of personal space, leaning in close to Keith’s face as he addresses him. Keith pushes him back. “It’s time we get to know you! Where you from?”

The rest of the group stops what they’re doing, everyone turning to look at Keith with a kind of interest that stirs something in Keith.

He’s not sure he likes it.

“Arizona.” he says warily, gaze darting from one person to the next as they stare him down.

“You play any other instruments?” 

“Harmonica.”

The group “ooh”s. 

“How old are you?”

“25.”

“Which Lioness song is your favorite?”

“Crybaby.”

“If you could only eat one thing for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

The questions keeps coming for a long while, and Keith rolls with it as long as they aren’t intrusive. He isn’t used to being in the centre of attention like this, but figures he might as well get used to it. He’s dropping right in on an up and coming rock band and their first real tour. As the replacement for the victim of a tragic, and well media-covered, accident. And then there’s the  _ thing _ . There is bound to be eyes on him for a while.

“Okay okay, you guys!” Lance yells over the heated discussion that had been born out of Keith’s preference for spicy food. “I think we’re ready for the runaway.”

“The what?”

The group sit back as Pidge rolls up the sleeves on her oversized jacket and leans over the table. “It’s like this. Like a thousand years ago when I was a child genius and Matt had an acne problem,” her brother sputters. “We realized there are two kinds of rock n roll-people.”

Keith cocks an eyebrow. She continues. “When The Runaways split in 1979, two members went on to make it pretty well in their solo careers. One was the sexy glam rock chick with lots of collabs with the biggest names on the strip. The other the androgynous punk rocker with her own label and stuff.”

“So the question is; which team are you on? Jett, or Ford?”

He didn’t get much time to answer before the theories started coming in.

“Oh c’mon he literally looks like Jett!”

“But Ford is the better guitarist!”

“He has a dog named Ford, the answer is obvious!”

  
  


\---

  
  


The night is over when Coran threatens a group of guys to a fist fight for stealing their booth, when in fact he had found his way to the wrong one after his trip to the bathroom.

“C’mon mister gorgeous man, cab’s here.” Matt maneuvers the stumbling manager out the door. Lance joins them in the car, leaving Keith with Hunk and Pidge.

“I live that way.” Keith gestures vaguely over his shoulder, suddenly back to feeling awkward once the three most outgoing aren’t there to guide conversation anymore.

“So do we.” Pidge shrugs and starts walking, Hunk beside her. “Guess you’re not getting rid of us just yet, newbie.”

“I wasn’t trying to-”

“Don’t fuss dude I’m just messing with you.” she flashes him a grin over her shoulder, the resemblance to her brother undeniable just then. She shuffles closer to Hunk, leaving space for Keith to walk with them. “Let’s go.”

It turns out they live on the same block, and the walk home isn’t nearly as bad as Keith first thought it might be. They make small talk but it’s not awkward, with Hunk being very welcoming and gentle, and Pidge’s dry humor that Keith really appreciates.

“I gotta ask,” Hunk says eventually, stepping around a suspicious looking puddle on the sidewalk. “Why did you name your dog Ford? Do you have a cat named Tesla? A Volkswagen ferret? Do you just really like Ford? Do you drive a Ford?”

Keith laughs quietly, shakes his head. “Nah, none of those.”

“Then why?”

He shrugs, smiling a little at the memory. “I found him in the alley behind the garage where I work. He was tiny, and cold. So I took him home.” Keith digs out his phone. “I took care of him, trained him. It sounds stupid but I figured, when he was ready, he’d tell me his name himself.”

He scrolls through his camera roll. “I take him to work with me most days. He always hangs around out back. And puppies chew on everything, y’know? So I got a bunch of toys and sticks and stuff for him. But he kept sneaking into the workshop to get this-” Keith angles the screen so his company can see. In the photo is a big fluffy puppy, gnawing away at a metal hood ornament. “He wouldn’t leave it alone, and it’s a Ford emblem, so.”

“That,” Hunk sniffs. “Is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  
  


\---

  
  


It takes two days of practise with the band for Allura to snap. Her Les Paul nearly misses the stand when she more or less throws it, and she leaves the room with smoke coming out her ears and Lance on her tail.

Hunk is the first to break the silence. “This is bad.”

Keith drags a hand across his face and groans. “So bad.”

“What do we do?”

Noone offers any answers to that one. Keith wishes the woman would just suck it up already. He gets that she’s mad about things, but he’s doing a good job here. He deserves to be here. It shouldn’t matter that he’s-

Matt calls after him when he too sets his guitar down and darts out the door. He makes it to the stairway, determined to argue for his right to this chance. Maybe if Allura got to blow off some steam fighting him, they could move on and get ready for this tour. He’s two steps down when he hears voices, and he stops in his tracks to listen.

“Schh, I got you.” Lance says. “I know it’s a lot.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath, a sob. Keith falters. Allura is- crying?

“I’m so sick of this. I’m so, so sick-” she hiccups, her words muffled. “It’s enough embarrassment opening for Sincline without--  _ Shit _ .”

“I get it. Everyone knows how important this is to you.” Lance makes a soothing noise, Alluras continued sobbing bouncing off the walls in the stairwell. “But Keith is really, really good. When he played your guitar the other day, it was like Shiro was back in there.”

Allura sniffs, and it’s quiet for a while. Keith leans on the wall, unsure of what to do.

“I know.”

He stiffens. Did she just say that or has he started imagining things?

“Allura, you need to try to see Keith as the musician that Lioness needs. We can’t disregard him just because…” Lance pauses. “Just because he’s half human.”

Anger flashes in Keiths chest. He knows very well that this is the reason Allura has a problem with him, but hearing it said out loud is still more unpleasant than he braced himself for.

“I know you want to give the finger to this bullshit industry shoving spotlights at every alien they see, because let’s be real it’s disgusting, but I think doing what’s best for the band is the real way to do that. Don’t hate on Keith for being part Galra. You’ll prove yourself no matter who’s in your band, I promise.”

Keith waits for Allura to speak, cursing his heart for beating so hard, himself for letting all this get to him. He waits, but Allura doesn’t say anything else. Instead there’s some shuffling, and Lance piping up again.

“C’mon, let’s get back.”

Keith books it back to the studio before they catch him eavesdropping, acting casual as anything when the other two slips into the room thirty seconds later.

He just prays that Lance’s surprisingly wise words have done some good.

  
  


\---

  
  


It does get a little better after that. Allura doesn’t lash out or storm off again, even if she remains cold towards Keith ninety percent of the time. By every passing day they slip further and further into that sweet state of playing as one, tuned in on each other.

It sounds fucking great, already after the first week.

Keith varies between his trusty Epiphone and the more sleek Chapman, trying his best to read Allura’s quiet judgements and adjusting accordingly. Lance’s words didn’t just make an impression on her, but on Keith. After hearing the woman break down and cry in frustration over the situation, he realized he’s not been the best he can be. He was so set on getting the job, he bulldozed right over any criticism or opposition. 

She probably deserves to hate him a little, just for that. And he’s not big on apologies, so, he tries to be better.

They practise every single day, Pidge and Lance coming and going carrying meals and upbeat attitudes through the week. 

Keith has played guitar almost every day for twelve years, he thought his fingers were ready for the hard work. But here he is now, fingertips swollen and throbbing like it’s his first time with a steel string. His hands cramp up and his back aches, his ears hurt.

“It’ll get better once we’re on the road and don’t practise as much. It’ll be a few rehearsals, the main gigs, maybe some practise when there’s time and a place for it.”

“Thank fuck.” Keith collapses next to Matt on the worn down couch, coffee spilling all over but he can’t find it in himself to care. “I think the last ten days have aged me like… 20 years.”

Matt snickers, squinting at him before letting his eyes slip back closed. “Still looking good buddy, don’t you worry.”

“I look like something a wild animal coughed up.” 

“Woah, dude.” Matt grins. “Y’know who used to use that exact same phrase?”

Keith freezes, this time spilling the coffee from his mouth. The bass player still has eyes shut, completely unaware of the turmoil of expressions fighting for space on Keith’s face. “I- no, who?”

“Shiro, the guy you’re filling in for. What are those odds y’think?”

Keith’s laugh is dry. “Not good, probably. Funny.”

  
  


\---

  
  


“I’m fucking nuts.” The round eyes watching him blink. “What the hell am I doing?”

Keith sighs, burying his hands in the thick fur on his dogs neck. “Matt just mentioned him today and I almost lost face.”

The dog says nothing, just wags his tail and leans into the good neck scratches.

“I’ll just have to be more prepared. Right boy?”

Ford grunts.

They sit like that for a bit, Keith cross-legged on the livingroom floor with his monster sized dog sitting across from him. It’s late, and he should go to bed, or do some packing. He’s leaving in two days and so far he’s come as far as to bring his bags up from storage. Ford is warm and soft under his hands, and he considers just curling up here on the floor and fall asleep with his friend as pillow.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

Then there’s a crash. Ford leaps off the floor and down the hall, pawing at the closed door by the time Keith catches up. “Romelle?”

When no one replies, he opens the door just enough to keep the dog out. On the floor in her bedroom, his roommate lies sprawled out like a starfish in the dark. The desk chair toppled over and the desklamp on the floor beside the woman who’s currently staring up at the ceiling as if contemplating all of her life choices. 

“Don’t even ask.” she says, making no move to get back on her feet.

“Okay.” 

She groans, kicking her feet like a child throwing a tantrum. The lamp and the chair both move with her. “I’m so done with earth and all these damn cords, Keith! Why does everything still come with cords?”

He watches her kick and twist until the offensive plastic unwraps from her foot. “Perhaps if you didn’t insist on buying twenty year old stuff at flea markets you’d realize most things actually don’t come with cords anymore.”

The woman on the floor mutters what he knows means something along the lines of “may the ancients rot your face”. Keith looks down to meet Ford’s eyes, nodding to him and letting the door slide open.

He smiles to himself as he slips back to the living room, listening to Romelle shrieking when the big lump of fur and muscle attacks.

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


The next morning Keith meets up with Hunk down the block. It’s become somewhat routine at this point. Today his band mate hands him a steaming cup of seven eleven coffee, which he accepts with great gratitude.

“No Pidge?” He looks around, half expecting the over caffeinated little woman to pop out of thin air. 

Hunk shakes his head. “She’s still at the studio.”

“Wait,” Keith’s eyes go wide. “You mean still as in since last night?”

“Yup.”

“What the hell is she doing?”

The drummer shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips. “She’s like that. Once she gets going there’s no point trying to pry her off that computer. I’m just glad she checks in to let me know she didn’t starve to death.”

“Wow.” Keith sips his coffee and imagines the sound samples reflecting on Pidge’s round glasses, the bloodshot eyes manic behind the lenses. “Was she always like this?”

“Pretty much. Her dad is a wicked talented producer too so she’s been taking after him as long as I’ve known her.”

“How long have you known each other?” Keith finds himself asking this type of questions more often than he’s used to, lately. Except for Romelle and the guys at the workshop, Keith hasn’t really spent any time getting to know people since moving to town.

He was never the social type.

It’s been a pleasant surprise to him, how comfortable he is around these people. Even Allura actually seems great, when she’s not gritting her teeth at his very existence. 

“Like, sixteen years, man. It’s been a while.” They book it across the street, not bothering to wait for the signal. “She’s the one who put me together with the rest of the band. Matt knew Shiro and when his and Alluras old band split, the Holts dragged me along to get something going.”

Keith hesitates for a moment. He knows a lot about Lioness, as well as Allura and Shiro’s old college band. But there was something he never found any straight answers on.

“What happened to that band, why did they call it quits?”

“It’s a long story.” Hunk says. “But the gist of it is that Shiro was dating another guy in the band.”

He knew that much.

“He asked Shiro to marry him. Shiro said no. Things got super awkward and they broke up.” 

Keith has to swallow the burst of malicious joy that swells in him at that. He’d known the group disbanded as a result of the couple breaking things off, but no one ever told the whole story. The truth was better than he could’ve hoped for. 

“Ouch.” He says, with feeling, and hides his smile behind his coffee cup.

—-

Once at the studio, Hunk darts off to check on Pidge. In the rehearsal room Keith finds Lance lounging on the couch, laptop on his stomach and one holopad in each hand. 

It’d taken Keith another few days after getting the job, figuring out what exactly it is Lance does around here. But once the guy started listing stats and reading comments out loud, he realized. Lance is the wizard running all the bands social media, something the band gets a lot of credit for. They’d risen to fame much thanks to their consistent and well put together social media, their interaction with fans and other bands online. 

Keith is thoroughly impressed. He doesn’t even know how Instagram works.

“Good morning sunshine! I need to borrow you for a bit later.” He says without looking up from his screens. “It’s time to properly introduce you to the cubs.”

“Only if you stop referring to the fans as cubs.”

“It’s cute!”

”It’s weird.”

“They’re our pride, Keith! Roar!”

“No.”

“Stop harassing the new recruit, McClain.” Matt stands in the door, pointing an accusatory finger at the man on the couch. “We need him to like us.”

Lance deflates, pouting as he starts tapping away on his laptop. Matt snickers and saunters over to his own corner, picks up his bass and starts looking for his ever lost tuning key. It takes a minute of crawling to look under the chairs, tilting of amps and annoyed grunting before Keith finishes tuning his own guitar and tosses the little thing in Matt’s general direction. 

“Thanks.” He mutters, getting on with the task. “Have you seen that meme where a tuning key and a pick hold hands and run away together?”

Lance laughs, but Keith just cocks an eyebrow. “No?”

“I’ll show you later, it’s gold.”

“Whatever you say.” Keith adjusts the settings on his pedal. “Should we get right on it with Run Along? I still don’t have it down.”

“Excellent idea, Keith.” Alluras voice pipes in as she enters the room. “I have some pointers I’d like to share with you on Chemistry as well. We only have today, tomorrow everything has to- what?”

She lowers her holopad where she was scrolling through notes, looking up at her band that have gone very quiet. Keith leans back in his chair, eyebrows raised. Behind him, Matt gapes and stares like an overgrown fish. A moment later, all of Lance’s devices clatter to the floor. 

Keith turns to see him turning redder by the second, the human definition of a heart eyes emoji.

“You okay there, Lancey-Lance?”

The guy doesn’t seem to hear him, completely taken by what the singer brought in.

“Do you guys like it?” Allura does a little spin, and Keith can’t help the laugh that escapes him at Lance’s complete mental breakdown.

“I think you broke the media guru, which is unfortunate.” he says. “But it looks awesome. Suits you.”

“Thank you, Keith.” she smiles at him, and for the first time since they met, he actually thinks it’s genuine. It feels like victory.

“Holy cow, Allura!” Hunk joins them with another pair of wide eyes. “Short hair? Nice.”

Lance makes a strangled noise, and that plus the near heart attack Coran has when he sees Alluras chin-length locks a little later, sets the best mood that rehearsal room has seen in a long time.

\---

  
  


That day and the next speed by and at the end of it, Keith stands completely winded in his own hallway. They only had a few hours of practise today, giving them all a chance to go home and finish packing, gather themselves for tomorrow.

Fuck, they’re really leaving tomorrow. He needs to pack. Finish the list of emergency numbers and important stuff for Romelle. Drop off some stuff he’s borrowed at the workshop.

He throws an eye at himself in the mirror and cringes. He needs to shave. Definitely shave.

It’s hard to believe what’s happening. A month ago snatching the spot as lead guitarist of Lioness was a daydream he could hardly even grasp. He wanted it so bad, he didn’t sleep for days before the first audition. 

And then he got it. Got in, and realized he had no idea what to make of the people behind the instruments. He’d been so set on the title and getting past Allura, he forgot to take the other members into account somehow. Talk about a one-track mind. 

He wasn’t prepared to like them all so much. He wasn’t prepared to think anything of them at all. But here he is with a bunch of new potential friends, and suddenly the things he’s left unsaid have put on some weight.

He tries not to think about it.

Much.

He’s in the middle of trying to fit every decent piece of clothing he owns into one suitcase - he never knew just how many pairs of socks he owns until now - when the front door opens and the sound of Romelle trying to contain Ford long enough to unclasp his leash. Then there are heavy paws thundering towards him, and he flips the lid to his suitcase closed before his ridiculous number of balled up socks turns into chew toys.

“Hey you big lump.” Keith grins, the monstrous animal leaping onto the bed, almost reaching Keith’s full height standing on the mattress. “You excited to finally have this bed to yourself for a while?”

“I think he’d much rather keep the one person who can keep up with him around, thank you very much.”

Romelle leans on the door frame, braids tuzzled and cheeks stained red. “That beast is going to bring me to an early grave while you’re gone. And he’ll dig it, too.”

\---

He doesn’t sleep much that night, mostly staring into the dark and listening to Ford snoring next to him, thinking too much. About the setlist, about the stupid interview Lance conducted and the thousands of responses to it so far, about Allura’s comments on his performance, and about--

It’s five am when he gives up and trades his sleeplessness for coffee and an early morning dog-walk. Seven when Romelle joins him on the couch, half asleep and clinging to him like some sort of octopus. It’s cozy, the three of them drowsy and warm, taking in the smell of coffee and rain soaked dog, waiting.

“Do you have everything you need?” Romelle fuzzes an hour later.

Keith sits on the floor in the hallway, giving his monster boy one good last belly rub. “Probably not.”

“Do I have everything I need?”

“Probably not.”

She kicks him, and he laughs. He’ll miss her, despite the bruises she causes. 

When she helps him load his stuff in the van, he regrets not pulling a bag over her head beforehand. 

“This is your roommate?” Matt practically screams out the window. His eyes dart wildly between Romelle and Keith. “Dude.” he whisper yells. “Dude you’re my hero.”

Keith shoves his head back into the car, and waves a finger at Romelle who has suddenly perked up significantly. “No.”

“I just-”

“No. We’re leaving. Put it back in your pants.”

She pouts and reaches for him. “Fine. Now hug me.”

Keith rolls his eyes, but walks straight into her arms nonetheless. He hugs her tight, for a long while. She’s the only one who gets cuddle privileges, it’s just the way things are.

When they part she’s got a moony smile going on that he instantly wants to unsee. “You ready for this?”

“Not at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i haven't written anything in two thousand years so idk if this makes any sense whatsoever.
> 
> ah, well


End file.
